‘Not that I can see.’
The next step had to solve the puzzle. It had to show us how the scanners were linked to the core. I lowered my head back on to my arm and, despite the fact that Vance’s face still hovered before mine like a portent, drifted into a fitful sleep.
The Scion Citadel of Edinburgh, regional capital of the Lowlands, was cloaked in coastal fog. After the effluvia of Manchester, the air tasted almost sweet – but it was also much colder, lashed by wind from the North Sea. The driver who had brought us here presented me with a key and told us where to find the safe house.
The streets were quiet in the small hours, which was fortunate, given what we were carrying. There were no skyscrapers here. It was an opium-dream of a time long past; a city of bridges and crumbling kirks. Mist laced around the old stone buildings, which had rooftops crowned with snow. Edinburgh was sometimes called the Grand Smoke, and now I knew why: there were chimneys everywhere, and it seemed as if we were walking through a cloud. The citadel was carved into the unruly Old Town, where the labourers and service workers dwelled, and the more modern and expensive New Town.
On a ledge of volcanic rock, a decaying fortress knelt on the skyline of the citadel.
‘Edinburgh Castle,’ Eliza said. ‘They say it’s haunted by the spirits of the Scottish monarchs.’
‘You read Jaxon’s history books, too?’
‘Every one. Jax taught me to read with those.’
Jaxon still eluded me. It was all too easy to think of him as the enemy, the traitor. Yet this was a man who had taught an orphaned artist to read. She hadn’t needed to know her letters to earn him money.
Our little party traversed the lantern-lit stairways that squeezed between the houses.
‘It’s good to see Scotland,’ Tom said hoarsely. His face was losing colour. ‘Just need . . . a lie-down.’
Maria rubbed his back. ‘You’re getting too old for this.’
His laugh was more of a wheeze.
We pressed on through the citadel: past a train station, across a bridge, and up a narrow street. Chandleries and apothecaries, cutlers and wigmakers, bakeries and bookshops nestled together on the stony incline.
The safe house was in an alleyway halfway up, blocked off by an iron gate. When she read the gold letters above it, Eliza tilted her head.
‘Anchor Close? Is this a joke?’
‘Best place for a safe house,’ Maria said. ‘Who’d dare put rebels in Anchor Close?’
The gate let out an agonised creak. The safe house was up the flight of steps beyond. Its windows were shrouded by curtains, their sills capped with moss, and a lantern sputtered beside the door. It took my shoulder to open it. The smell of mould snaked out from inside.
The décor was as melancholy as the exterior. Claret walls patterned with floriated designs, coated with decades of grime. Furniture that looked as if a pennyweight could break it. Some dusty numa were piled on a table, guarded by a ghost, which drifted sullenly away from us. As we shuffled into the hallway. As we shucked our coats, Tom began to wheeze. I reached for his hand. Cold as marble.
‘Tom,’ I said, ‘what’s wrong? Is it your leg?’
‘Aye, it’s . . . giving me trouble. I’ll live, Underqueen.’
The words winded him. I squeezed his arm.
‘I’m taking him upstairs,’ Maria said, her tone clipped. ‘Eliza, get the painkillers. In my pack.’
As Tom mounted the stairs, leaning heavily on the banister, I caught Maria by the sleeve and said quietly, ‘It’s not his leg. Something else is wrong.’
‘How do you know?’
‘He’s not getting enough oxygen. I know the signs.’
She stiffened. ‘Do you have your mask?’ I handed it over, and she followed him up the stairs.
Eliza brushed past with a warming pan. As I reached for the handle of another oak door, my sixth sense tingled. Three dreamscapes: one human, two Rephaite. How had I not noticed? Breathless, I pushed it open and found Nick and Lucida sitting on faded armchairs beside a fire – and in the corner, watching the flames dance in the hearth, was Warden.
Nick got to his feet and offered a weak smile. I wrapped my arms around him. ‘You’re freezing, s?tnos,’ he said, holding me close.
‘I’m so happy to see you, but—’ I let go of him, realising what the presence of the Rephaim meant. ‘You and Lucida should be in the Beneath.’
‘It’s okay,’ Nick said. ‘Terebell sent some reinforcements. Pleione and Taygeta are there.’
I relaxed a little. Taygeta Chertan was Pleione’s mate – one of the Ranthen who had arrived to support me at the scrimmage. She was just as intimidating as Terebell, with a penetrating stare and a sharp tongue, which made her perfect for keeping the syndicate in line.
‘How do things stand in the Beneath?’ I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer.
What little gladness had come into Nick’s face when he saw me disappeared. ‘It’s . . . bad,’ he said. ‘We need to get them out of there. For all our sakes.’
If he didn’t want to give me specifics, it must be hell in the crisis facility.
‘Where’s Ivy?’ I said. ‘Did she go into the Fleet?’
Nick returned to his armchair. ‘Glym announced that you’d sentenced her to join the toshers to protect the syndicate, which renewed a certain degree of support for your rule. Not that they’ve forgiven you entirely,’ he added, ‘but they feel slightly warmer towards you now than they did a few days ago.’
They had been ready to eviscerate me a few days ago, so that wasn’t saying much.
‘Róisín came forward to take Ivy’s place out of concern for her health, which most of them grudgingly accepted. She was due to leave when we realised Ivy was gone.’ I raised my eyebrows. ‘One of the toshers said she’d asked him where she could find their king, then gone back into the sewers with food enough for a few days. She left this on her bunk.’
He passed me a rolled-up scrap of cigarette paper. The note was written in a spiky, quaking hand.
You can’t save us all, Paige.
‘It’s not a pleasant thought,’ Nick said, ‘but I don’t think there was another way.’
Unwillingly, I remembered those dark, oppressive tunnels, the silence broken only by the drip of water.
‘There wasn’t. Not if Ivy was going to live.’ I pocketed the note. ‘I’m going to get her out of there.’
‘Róisín went after her. For now, they have each other. Once you’re back and Senshield’s gone, you’ll have enough power to bargain for their lives.’
‘And hopefully a few more supporters.’ I glanced at the two Rephaim. ‘I take it you found Adhara Sarin, and that’s why you’ve been allowed to return?’
‘Yes,’ Warden said. ‘Terebell is attempting to forge an alliance with her, assisted by Mira and Errai. She elected to send the rest of us back across the veil to support you.’
I looked at him for a beat too long, searching his face for injuries. He looked just the same as before he had left.